


wash over me

by dizzy



Series: in the half light [7]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 16:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18210467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: Sometimes the storm does strange things; timestamp set while Dan and Phil are still in England surviving.





	wash over me

It starts midday - crackles, light jumping from the sky to touch the earth. Strange circles ripple above the places the lightning came down. 

It's fucking terrifying. They've been out searching homes for supplies. They're almost out of butane for their camp stove and down to jars of peanut butter and a couple tins of sweet corn. 

The first house is a mild success in terms of food - a half full box of oats in individual packets they can mix with water, two tins of ravioli in tomato sauce, a box of dried pasta, and a three-quarters full bottle of vodka - but oddly enough, not that many people keep butane canisters just laying around. 

There's one box of matches in a kitchen drawer, sturdy kitchen ones but the box is half empty. He tucks it into a waterproof pocket of his backpack and turns to Phil. "We should keep looking." 

Phil's standing by the floor to ceiling window. When Dan looks over, there's a purple cast to his face even stranger than normal. His voice shakes when he says, "No. We should go home."

*

It's a storm with no rain, which makes it ten times more ominous. 

They have no idea what the sky above them is now. Something that's been so present their whole lives, everyone's life, a constant of their world - is suddenly not theirs anymore. 

What'll go next? The food they eat? The air they breathe? 

They don't know. They can't know. They have to trust that the things they rely on will keep being reliable. They don't even have a choice, really. Trust in patterns, trust in normality, are part of the human condition. Familiarity breeds comfort. 

Even now. They've grown used to this new sky being a certain way and suddenly it's not. 

What happens if the lightning hits them? If they fall under one of the weird circles above? Does it even do anything? 

They don't want to find out. 

*

The concrete shed feels as much a home as anything can. 

They've improved upon the bed with memory foam padding stolen from under a mattress in a home. They've piled stolen blankets here and there onto it, made it so thick that they finally almost can't feel concrete. 

Dan lounges back on it. They don't want to go back outside until the storm stops doing what it's doing. He watches on their little foam football seat that serves as a chair, the hunch of his shoulders as he pokes at a radio they both know won't work. 

He could share the bed. They've made it just wide enough for two, obviously. Sleeping cozy isn't a problem. 

It's plenty enough to comfortably sleep on. Not quite enough to comfortably fuck on. 

They still try, though. And it still feels good; worth the creak of their bones and bruised knees later. They need sex right now. They need it to pass the time and they need it to remind each other that they're not alone. 

"Hey," Dan says. 

Phil looks up. He's got a streak of dirt on his cheekbone, just above where his beard grows in. "Hey." 

Dan licks his lips. "Hey," he says again, in a deliberate voice. 

Phil tilts his head, studies Dan with intent - then puts the radio down. 

*

The temperature doesn't change much now. It holds steady around 14; not much of a breeze, nothing to cool the sweat on their skin when they break a sweat running back to the safety of home. 

It has to be that sweat that Phil is tasting now, panting into Dan's neck while he sinks into Dan's body. 

Bless that house in Brighton and their bottle of lube. 

He digs his fingernails into Phil's shoulder. He's probably put scars on Phil's body with how much he refuses to let go now. He wants all of it though. He wants Phil's cock, thick and heavy and inside of him. He wants the mess of something that's there because they put it there. He wants the stretch and burn of pain that's his to find pleasure in, their together to enjoy. 

And he does like the pleasure, too. Sometimes it's the only thing that feels real. There are no other moments in his life when he can close his eyes and let himself drift back to the mindset and the memories that feel like home. 

"I love you," he says, and it makes Phil come. 

* 

Phil brings him off with eager fingers stroking fast, before he's even slipped free of Dan's body. Dan wants it like that, he wants to clench against the fullness. He's not alone - literally, figuratively. He's part of something more than just himself. 

It washes against him, cleanses him out inside in a way he needed so badly. 

Afterwards, he stretches his arms over his head and lets one leg hang off the pallet bed. "We should check on the storm." 

He's not sure how much time has passed, but it surely must be hours. They've had lunch and he spent a while with his music while Phil played with the radio and then they took their time taking each other apart. 

"You don't want to go out again, do you?" Phil asks, doubt in his voice. "It's probably close to night." 

Night is another nebulous concept, but the sky does darken to something that Dan figures stars must be alive behind. 

"Not to the houses," Dan says. He looks down at his own naked stomach and sees a smear of come already turned slightly gritty with what was already on his skin. "I want to go to the river." 

*

It's not night yet, but wherever the sun is it will be setting soon. 

The river isn't far away. It's one of the reasons they picked this place; water to run through their filters, and a supply of it that won't run dry like all the taps have. 

They've always taken turns bathing, wanting to be ready to defend each other if someone else approached. 

Tonight when Phil says, "Who first?" Dan just shakes his head. 

"We'll be fast." 

*

They share one hotel soap and bottle of shampoo between them. 

It's nothing like the showers they used to take together. This is function first, a conclusion to a spiritual experience as Dan cleans himself inside and out. He uses bare fingers along his ass and feels the soreness lingering there. 

He presses two fingers in just a bit, and likes it. 

When he looks over at Phil, Phil isn't looking back. Phil is busy rubbing soaped up hands over his arms. The soap that slides down his skin has a brownish tint. 

It's weird how they've gotten used to being filthy. Clothes, too, though they swap out with the remnants of other people's closets when they can. "We should do laundry tomorrow." 

"Yes, please," Phil immediately. "I don't even want to put clothes back on after feeling this clean." 

"Then let's not," Dan says. "Pants only. If anyone sees us, we just charge for the show." 

"Will trade butane for Shakira hips?" Phil does a wiggle that Dan recognizes without even being able to see. 

The laugh that bubbles out of Dan feels as cathartic as every other part of the night. 

*

Dan sits with his bare ass on a rock and Phil carefully settled between his legs, head tilted up at the angle the two fingers Dan has under his chin demands. 

“Don’t move,” he says, a probably needless warning as he raises a blade to scrape over Phil’s cheek. He loves the smooth, pale skin it reveals. He immediately wants to press his lips to it, but he resists. “Should have done this before we had sex. I have beard burn on my neck, don’t I?” 

Phil tries very hard not to grin, and fails. Dan lifts the blade away until the moment passes, taking advantage of the time to dip it in the water and rinse it clean. “A bit.” 

“You like that,” Dan murmurs. “Caveman.” 

“Ooga-booga. Fire bad. Tree pretty. Dan mine.” 

“And don’t you forget it,” Dan says. He poises the razer for another stroke. “Now: still, please.” 

*

They do run almost-naked back to their little concrete home, making it in just as darkness encloses. It still smells of the ravioli they'd eaten and a little bit of funky body odor but in a familiar way already. 

Phil turns on their hand cranked torch, the weak light enough for them to crawl into bed. There's never much point in staying up anymore, their bodies need rest. 

Their minds need rest, too. Their hearts need rest. They need a lot of things they can't have. But as Dan slides an arm around Phil's waist and curls his body into Phil's, he's glad he can at least have this.

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog on tumblr here!](http://alittledizzy.tumblr.com/post/183650906890/wash-over-me-danphil-rated-m-14k-part-of-the)
> 
> prompted by sarah <3 I am taking prompts for this universe, set in either England or Isle of Man. Drop them in my askbox on tumblr if you have one!


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